Roses, Wine & Murder: In the City of Steeples

by Rose Young

  “For goodness sake! I know of gardeners and landscapers in Long Island and I have a pharmacist. Whatever do you mean?” she asked, feeling deeply perplexed.

  “It’s an ongoing investigation and we have to ask all kinds of questions, Mrs. Stockman. Again, I am very sorry about your husband. We’re hoping the autopsy will tell us more. In the meantime, please call me if you think of anyone with plant knowledge or anything else that comes to mind. Here is my card. Good day Ma‘am.” Morrison nodded in respect and entered the elevator.

  Once the doors closed to the elevator, Morrison slipped his hand inside his left pocket and pulled out his digital recorder. He spoke into it, “This ends my questioning with Mrs. Stockman at 1 pm on June 9th. Check her acquaintances, bank accounts, life insurance policies, and real estate dealings.”

  Morrison preferred to tape preliminary questions with family or possible suspects in their personal environments. Over the years he found it worked out well especially when comparing it to a statement if it was required at the station.

  The elevator descended, Morrison rubbed his chin with deep thoughts. A possibility dawned on him. Georgi may have wanted the wine business for himself, all along. A motive! The elevator door opened to deliver him from the heady heights of the posh Harlow condos to the now infamous, Bank Street.

  Chapter 11

  Day 2 – 1 pm

  Roxanne nibbled on an apricot scone as Georgi sipped his latte and crunched on his warm apple tart. “It makes me feel better already,” he said, “cinnamon apples in a puff pastry. It’s as if all is right in my world. As if Mom is here and apple tarts just came out of the oven.”

  He had a warm glowing smile below the bandages wrapped around his head. Roxanne was glad to see him settled, enjoying a moment of pleasure. She didn’t want to spoil the peace with questions about the mugging or Mitch’s death. She decided to just be a friend and sit with him, engage in small talk and wait. Wait for him to be ready to talk. The poor guy had been through enough, she thought.

  After he finished eating, Roxanne carried the plates and cups to the sink and cleaned up.

  “Georgi, I’m going to let you rest now. Do you have anyone who can check in on you later?” she asked from the kitchen.

  “Oh yes, I lined up a whole crew,” he explained, as Roxanne came back to listen. “At two o’clock Bruno is coming by until he starts his night shift as a waiter. Then at 5 pm, Sketcher and Brian are bringing dinner, and at 8 pm my friends Marco and Gigi are bringing a movie. We’ll watch that until I fall asleep and they’ll let themselves out.”

  “Well,” Roxanne said with hands on her hips, “you have a better group of friends than I do!”

  “Oh no, Roxanne, that’s not true. If you were mugged and told all your friends, you would have food and movies for a month!” He gently reached out to hold her hand. Looking at her sincerely he said, “You’re a good friend. Remember the time you found me locked out of Vinho Verde one morning when I went to water the window boxes? You called your locksmith friend. And remember when I had to travel to Europe for over a week for wine business with Mitch, and you watered my plants and you let a delivery man in with cases of California wine we had been desperate to receive? So now I can add this to the logbook list of all you’ve done for me. Thank you.”

  “I remember,” she said and gave him a hug. “Okay Georgi, you rest up now before your next visitor arrives and I’ll call you tomorrow to see how you’re feeling.” She kissed him on the cheek and let herself out.

  As Roxanne approached her truck, she looked across Hempstead Street to the original 1652 town cemetery. The sign read, Ye Antientist Burial Ground. Its ancient tombstones were sunken and tilted with age. Small, eerie angelic faces were almost hidden under pale green lichens. An enormous Beech tree stood like a guardian. Its long leafy tendrils draped over the hallowed ground as if protecting the tombstones beneath its wide canopy. Roxanne suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. The whole situation washed over her as she remembered a tombstone epitaph:

  Stop traveler as you pass by,

  As you are now so once was I,

  As I am now so you shall be,

  So prepare for death and follow me.

  Saddened by the thought, she drove toward New London’s City Center District. She traveled past the tall brownstone steeple of St. James Episcopal Church and said her own silent prayer for help. When she came upon the Soldiers and Sailors Monument on the Parade Plaza, her eyes roved up the tall monument to the heroine at its highpoint. The female figure, holding a palm frond, represented peace and liberty for all who fought on the shores of America.

  The two days of tense events, and now the tombstones, triggered Roxanne’s emotions. Her mind raced with thoughts of the dilemma they were in. Squeezing the steering wheel hard she said aloud, “How dare they harm Georgi and killed that poor man!”

  A horrible helpless feeling overtook her as tears streamed down her face. She exhaled a loud sigh and continued to drive. She turned onto one street after another until she passed through granite pillars and parked her truck beside Fort Trumbull, which loomed to her left.

  The current stoic fortress was built after 1839. It is grand in size but plain by design. Historically, in 1777 its’ location was the artillery center for the young colony. Infamously, it was overtaken in 1781 when the English, led by the traitor Benedict Arnold, landed ashore and burned down New London’s city center. It was a great devastation to the town, which took 30 years to recover. Many widows and their children were left homeless and in despair.

  Roxanne looked to the tranquil panoramic view of the Thames River out to Long Island Sound. It was one of her ‘good places’ to think things through. She heaved another sigh trying to calm herself. Her eyes lowered to a grassy knoll and followed a stone wall. Massive black cannons aimed seaward caught her attention. Stacked beside them were cannonballs of war, ready to be loaded.

  A new feeling surged inside Roxanne. A ripple of energy crossed over her arms, as she shuddered. Suddenly, she was overcome with a new energy, warrior energy.

  Angrily, she pounded her fists on the steering wheel and demanded out loud. “How dare they harass us. They have invaded my life, my peaceful happy life.”

  The images of her contented life faded, as if a fog had descended and a strange invasion came with the mist and replaced peace with death, insecurity, and threats. Her days of gardening, reading, volunteering and family gatherings had been brutally overrun.

  She stared at the cannons and pounded the steering wheel. From the safety of her truck, she shouted, “I don’t accept this! They have to catch this killer!” Her anger fell into sobbing.

  Chapter 12

  Day 2 – 3:00 pm

  Detective Morrison drove his official traveling office, the SUV, through the crowded corridor of Bank Street. He had waited to follow Mrs. Stockman. He wondered, would she connect with someone else?

  Her taxi passed art galleries, a fair trade store, a salon and spa, bistros, and then flew past the Vinho Verde Wine Bar. Morrison positioned his SUV into a quiet corner of the ferry terminal parking lot. He sat with arms crossed, and his dark blue eyes watched Mrs. Stockman with suspicion.

  She exited the taxi with movie-star grace. Her silk scarf billowed aloft as she strode across the tarmac like a model in a photo shoot, boarding the high-speed ferry. Morrison scanned the area for any dubious onlookers.

  While the attendant helped her ascend the gangplank, Morrison gave a discontented grumbled. I have no evidence to hold her. It’s just a hunch but I don’t like this one bit. What if she choreographed her husband’s demise? She has the money and a holier-than-thou attitude. Struggling, he argued with himself, I don’t care how good she looks or smells. Murderers don’t have a look. They just need a motive.

  By morning, Morrison expected to have his hands on banking business, insurance documents and possibly Mitch Stockman’s will. Maybe a lead will surface tomorrow, he hoped.

  ***

  Roxanne had d
riven away from Fort Trumbull and the cannons of war and stayed on the shoreline road. Her mind whittled away at ideas. I need a fresh perspective… there must be something I’ve missed in these events.

  On this stretch of Pequot Avenue, large homes and private beaches were dotted along the Sound. The expansive view included several lighthouse landmarks: the New London Harbor Light on the shore, Ledge Light at the mouth of the Thames River, Avery Point Light on Groton’s shore and Race Rock Light bordering the Sound and the Atlantic Ocean.

  Roxanne found a place to park, spying a pair of graceful white swans feeding, she rolled down her window. Calm water gently lapped and swished small stones on the beach, quieting her nerves. She inhaled the salty air deeply and leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and lost herself in the sounds….

  Several minutes went by… when a small idea floated toward the surface of her mind. She followed it… Hhmm, how to lure a witness… and catch a killer? Emerging from the drifting thoughts, she called her husband at work.

  “Sam, I have an idea, can I stop by?”

  “Yes, I’ll be free in 10 minutes,” he agreed.

  “Okay, I’ll be right there,” she said eagerly.

  Driving quickly away from the Sound along the Thames River, Roxanne passed Mitchell College’s buildings and beachfront and Fred’s Shanty, a popular clam shack overlooking the docks of a large marina. Once near the center of town, she paused at the imprisoned Columbus Circle garden, then took a right on Bank Street and landed at the Engine House. The tall garage doors of the 1880s brick building were open, and one of the men saw her coming.

  “Hi Cliff,” she called, “where’s Sam?”

  “Upstairs in his office,” he answered.

  “Good, I have a fire of my own today!”

  “Well,” Cliff chuckled, “I hope he can put it out for you.”

  She shrugged as she strode past the fire trucks and headed up the stairs. Peeking around the edge of the door to Sam’s office, she whispered, “Are you free now?”

  “For you? Of course!” he said looking over his glasses at her. “Close the door, will you?” He pushed the papers on his desk aside. She pulled her chair close to him. “So, what’s this idea you have?” he asked.”

  “I want to ask Detective Morrison to tell a lie.”

  Sam let out a long rolling laugh. His chair tilted back, and he slapped his stomach with the idea of lying to Dan Morrison. “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “Look, if he tells the press that we found an object in the garden at Columbus Circle, possibly that creepy killer will stop bothering us. And I’m thinking if we offer a reward for information on Stockman’s murder, maybe someone will come forward. Then we will have this thing resolved once and for all.” She looked at him in suspense, hoping he would agree.

  “Well who is going to post a reward?” he asked.

  “We will,” she answered.

  “You mean you and me? How much money do you have in mind?”

  “Enough to get someone’s attention,” she replied. “Besides, whatever was lost, likely incriminates the killer. Doesn’t it make sense?” Roxanne asked feeling desperate. “Look, I just want my life back, Sam, and poor Georgi, you should’ve seen him. He has a big bandage on his head and he’s black and blue.”

  She took a deep breath. With empathy Sam exhaled heavily, and took her hand. Roxanne was used to his long thoughtful pauses a trait that made him a great chief over the years.

  “Let me call Dan,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes, “I will ask him to come down here.”

  “Thank you dear.” She heaved a sigh of relief. “Do you think he’ll go for it?”

  “It’s doubtful,” Sam speculated, “but it doesn’t hurt to review the idea with him.”

  Detective Morrison was able to meet them in short order. His dark khaki pants and blue-pressed shirt with tie and badge around his neck were part of the official package. His discerning dark blue eyes and black Irish hair rendered him naturally handsome.

  “What’s going on? Do you have something new?” Morrison asked.

  The chief spoke, “Listen Dan, Roxanne has an idea that I frankly agree with and it might help advance the investigation.”

  “Anything sounds good at this point,” Morrison said uncharacteristically and added, “I’m being harassed by my department heads. The Ferry office has called saying we must solve this murder because the residents of Long Island are alarmed over Stockman’s death, and the Ferry office doesn’t want to lose sales especially from that side of the Sound. The New London storefronts and restaurants are concerned about decreased business. I’m being pressured from all sides. What do you have?”

  Chief Sam fixed his gaze on Morrison and continued, “We all believe the murderer is looking for something from the site. If you claim to have found new evidence, it will achieve several things. It might get him off Roxanne and Georgi’s back and he might take some action that would expose him. On top of that, Roxanne suggests we post a reward for information. This could encourage a passerby from that evening to come forward. Is it possible there is more than one person involved?”

  “It’s possible,” Morrison conceded, rubbing his chin and feeling the five o’clock shadow emerging.

  Not waiting for a further reply, Chief Sam continued, “There are too many moving parts Dan, four incidents, Columbus Circle, the beach mugging, the house and now Georgi. Maybe there is more than one guy. The reward may flush someone out.”

  Looking sideways at Roxanne, Dan Morrison responded, “Well, it’s not my nature to mislead anyone… but that’s in my personal life. This involves catching a killer, public safety is at stake and we need to get the job done. I could announce that we found evidence. I could say people were intoxicated and there was a fight that resulted in an accidental death. A reward might provoke someone to come forward, but I want you to realize we don’t know how this will play out, and you should be prepared for unknown consequences.”

  Roxanne interjected, “Look Detective, this is affecting our lives. I’ve had enough!” To stress the point, she made the motion of ‘cut it’ across her neck. “At least putting out this false information may throw the killer off me and Georgi and place him in your hands!”

  Detective Morrison looked at Chief Sam and back to Roxanne, a rare smile crossed his face. “I think you’re onto something here. You could be my new secret agent, Roxanne,” he said with a genuine smile that made him even more handsome. “However, I do want to have Marissa Stockman aware of the reward idea and see if she will support it and fund it. I’ll contact her and tell her I’m announcing uncovered new evidence. I want to assess her reaction.

  I also have the press to meet with before the evening deadline. So we’ll see how this works out. I’ll be in touch soon. Thank you both.”

  After he left, Sam said, “Roxanne dear, don’t you get any ideas about what he just said about secret agent. I know once your mind connects with your intuition, you’re like a little Piranha eating away at ideas from every angle.”

  “Well, isn’t that why he offered me the job?” she queried.

  “Wow, that was a job offer?” he countered.

  “Well, it all depends on your point of view, doesn’t it? It sure sounded like one to me.” She smiled mischievously.

  Sam put his head in his hands and ran them through his thick white hair. He shook his head, “Oh no, Roxanne, this is serious. I don’t want you poking around these folks. Their business is death with a capital D. Your job is done and over, besides we have the president coming to town and that is enough right now.”

  She knew he was concerned for her, so she pulled back from her rash talk. “You’re right, dear. Let’s see what happens after the announcement and reward notice. I’ll back off.” She gave him a big smile, slyly enjoying her new secret agent status.

  He reached for her hand and implored, “Promise me Roxanne, you will give this a few days before you do anything.” Roxanne and Sam had been sweetheart
s in high school and married for 25 years. He admired her calm exterior, knowing the force of the fire within. So far, their mutual respect kept the balance in their relationship.

  “I promise, honey, and I really mean it. I’m just giving you a hard time. I’ll sink my energies into the garden and I’ll be just fine.”

  He sighed with relief, “Okay then, let me get back to work.

  “Happily,” she chirped, jumping up and giving him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks honey, I’ll see you later.” She stepped out of the office and took a quick left.

  “Oh, there she goes!” he muttered.

  In a flash, she glided down the fire pole, giggling.

  Chief Sam winced, how many times have I told her? She can’t do that! It’s a liability!

  Chapter 13

  Day 2 – 3:30 pm

  From his helm on the Sea-Jet, Captain Matthew Griswold gave the order to release the high speed ferry from the dock. He blew the deep-toned horn, letting passengers know they were about to cast-off. Simultaneously, a working cargo train slowly passed Union Station, which was close to the shipping docks. A long shrill train whistle responded to the high-speed Sea-Jet’s horn. Whoooo-Whoooo! The conductor waved out his window, Captain Griswold sounded back another deep-toned response and waved.

  Griswold loved the great outdoors, and loved his job. Before landing this position 8 years ago, he had retired from 22 years in the Coast Guard. Seafaring history was long in his family. He carried within a wistful boyhood memory of when he and his Dad climbed the 166 steps of the Groton Monument, an obelisk near his family’s namesake, Fort Griswold on the riverside in Groton.

  From atop the 135-foot viewing windows, his young boy’s eyes peered out and sighted his first love: sailing ships. It was then he also felt the call of the sea and learned of his maritime lineage. His grandfather teased him and said the mermaids wooed the Griswold men. But his family’s nautical disposition was more like sea kelp with deep water roots that grew naturally in salt water.